


but by the grace of god go we

by Saul



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: First Kisses Galore, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saul/pseuds/Saul
Summary: In which three emotionally stunted twenty-somethings figure out themselves, each other, and all that's left behind.





	1. neil josten does his best

**Author's Note:**

> submission for Sam's (knox-moreau @ tumblr) tfc ship competition! which turned out to really be just a giant excuse to write schmoopy post-canon kandreil. please enjoy.

The first time Kevin kissed Neil was after Neil told Kevin that their performance in the Spring Championships upped their national ranking from the worst Class I team to the fourth best. Kevin dropped his gym bag, grabbed Neil by the shoulders, and reeled him in for a cruising, albeit closed-lip, kiss.

It was a _tinsy bit_ shocking.

Though a gesture that would have sent a fourteen year old him stumbling in delight, now that he knew what Kevin Day was _really_ like off a filmed stage, it made him question Kevin’s health. Once Kevin leaned away - not _smiling_ in a soft, happy way, but _grinning_ , like in victory, like in delight, like a crocodile at an unaware gazelle’s approach -, Neil bluntly asked, “Are you ill?”

Kevin did not take that well.

He refused to talk or look Neil in the eye for twelve hours after, which was impressive, as four of those hours made up their one-on-one nightly practice session.

The second time Kevin kissed Neil was in the midst of a re-watch of a Trojan game. Jeremy Knox had made a pass that richocheted perfectly from the mid-point to the goal, and Neil had pointed out the only reason it had worked was because of Knox’s heavier racquet, precise timing, and his forward offense splitting the defense in the middle. It wasn’t a particularly novel statement; Kevin Day had done something similar in his high school career against the Cincinnati Hornets, if Neil recalled correctly (and he did, he’d reread that article five times, he had it pasted on the third column and fourth row of his journal that no longer was).

But Kevin had looked at him like he’d dropped the secret recipe to a perfect protein blend, and then kissed him.

Again. 

On the lips.

What the _hell._

It made Neil’s skin prickle and his stomach roll and it was, in general, not a pleasant experience. He almost excused himself from the rest of the game, but Kevin suddenly invested himself in the possibilities of applying the Trojans’ synchronized charge to the Foxes, and Neil had to remind him that while they could work together out of sheer spite against the opposing team, teamwork was not a viable tactic for their line-up, and that, well, that topic led from one point to another and Neil couldn’t just _leave_ in the middle of it.

Kevin only avoided his eyes a little bit after that one.

Exy helped, as always.

The third time Kevin kissed Neil was after Neil took his side on an argument with Andrew about how many new Foxes they needed to recruit. Wymack had given them an upper limit and a stack of files and tapes submitted from coaches around the country. Dan had spearheaded the project, but left early for a dinner with Matt with a warning that they had better not mysteriously lose any file on people Kevin didn’t entirely like. Watching from the window, Andrew claimed he didn’t care and feigned indifference— _up to_ the very moment Kevin said, “Yes, these seven work,” whereupon Andrew said, “Only seven? We lose players so fast. Are you trying to push our luck?” and started an argument on what it meant to plan ahead that took nearly as much time to settle as selecting the original seven players had.

Neil had stayed out of it until sleep weighed down his thoughts. He’d glanced at the clock, contemplated the fuming Kevin Day and coolly amused Andrew Minyard in front of him, and said, “Even if five leave, we’ll qualify. Seven works fine.”

Just like that, Andrew had conceded the point with a shrug.

Neil had expected Kevin to throw another fit over Andrew giving in so easily - how Kevin still missed that Andrew was clearly riling him on purpose was beyond Neil - and while Kevin had shot Andrew a glare and tight, caustic, “That settles that,” he once again stooped and gave Neil a peck when he handed over the lucky seven players’ files.

His ears a deep pink, he then cleared his throat, straightened up, and marched out with a strangled excuse of needing to talk to Wymack.

As Wymack was definitely asleep and there was no way Kevin would walk to the Tower alone in the middle of the night, what he really did was march out to sit in Andrew’s car. They all knew that.

“That’s the third time,” Neil told Andrew, because he figured his tone of voice explained just how baffled he was at Kevin’s reasoning to the person he  _usually_ kissed.

Andrew’s head cocked, his expression mildly curious. The neutrality was a bigger warning than if he’d been frowning. He was just as surprised as Neil, and he _hated_ surprises.

On their way to the car, Andrew mused, “He’s arrogant.”

Miffed by the implication of Kevin expecting obedience (and, a little, at Andrew thinking Kevin would expect it), Neil muttered back, “You think he expects me to just go along with… it? With whatever this all is?”

“He’s arrogant,” Andrew repeated, “not stupid.”

Neil frowned, his train of thought thoroughly disrailed. “I don’t always have to be right. I’m not that pig-headed.”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

Andrew ignored his scowl and held the door to the parking lot shut when Neil, finished with the conversation and ready to snap at Kevin over what he was doing, reached for it.

As Andrew refused to let go, his gaze expectant, Neil scoffed and stopped pushing. “I don’t see what the point _is._ ”

“The point is, he wants to kiss you.”

“ _That’s_ stupid.”

“What if he asked?”

“He didn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

Silence.

Andrew’s face blanked.

“Stay here,” he told Neil. His tone booked no argument. “I’ll text you when we’re finished. If you hear anything, don’t check.”

Neil kept quiet as Andrew left for the parking lot. He did contemplate simply jogging home, but the idea held little appeal. He’d rather be asleep than arguing, or discussing, or whatever Andrew refused to label his _talk_ with Kevin; he’d rather be in his bed than standing, alone, in a chilly gym corridor.

Just as he reconsidered jogging home, _hurry up, josten_ pinged into his phone. He went to the parking lot to discover Kevin in the backseat, silent and once again avoiding Neil’s eyes, but otherwise whole. Andrew had one hand on the steering wheel and one dangling from the open window.

Neil contemplated asking what had happened, and decided, rather like with jogging, that he would rather sleep than talk.

The drive home was blissfully quiet. While he tried to suss out the tension in the air, he found all of it came from Kevin and none from Andrew– which meant what Andrew had said (or threatened) could have been any number of things, and that it had made whatever point Andrew wanted to make, and finally, that it really wasn’t any of Neil’s concern.

The fourth time Kevin kissed Neil happened so many months after the first three times, Neil had _almost_ convinced himself that he never thought about it.

There was nothing special about the day. They weren’t discussing Exy. They were in the middle of the Fall season, but they were three days from a game against the Jackals (that they had, barely, won – the freshmen were going to  _drive Neil up a wall_ , and most of the old Foxes seemed to agree) and a week-plus away from their next, so there wasn’t any especial prep to be done. The news that the Ravens were on shaky ground and performing badly had broken over a month ago. It still seemed to dig under Kevin’s skin, but as he fast learned Neil and Andrew had no interest in talking about the Ravens, he took initiative and actually called Jean, and seemed to calm down.

They were waiting in the foxhole court’s lobby for their teammates to arrive. They sat on their usual bench: Andrew in the middle, an arm over the back of Neil’s shoulders, Kevin to his left and Neil to his right. Kevin ruffled through printouts of professional statistics. Though he could quote more than half of the professional team’s roisters from memory, he had dedicated himself to thoroughly looking over his possible career choices.

Recruiting season was months away.

Neil didn’t blame him a bit for the preparation. He didn’t enjoy thinking about the long years left at Palmetto - he didn’t enjoy thinking of them as _long years_ , it felt like a betrayal - but he did enjoy talking about the professional teams in general, and especially now that Kevin had a personal investment.

Andrew did not look into his options at all, did not accept Kevin’s recommendations on any platform, and tolerated the talk.

(That was a lie. He liked it, he just wouldn’t admit it. Neil knew this for a _fact_ : it was in how Andrew’s eyes would flit between them while they talked like he was watching a particularly slow and drawn-out tennis game.)

Neil said, his eyes on the tiled ceiling as he mentally ran through Kevin’s recent fixations, “The San Francisco Tigers have an incredible offense.”

Kevin replied, “But Atlanta’s been expanding. They’ve made smart picks the last few years even though they pull their drafts from the middle - in two or three seasons, it’ll pay off.”

“You’re willing to gamble?”

“I want to play smart.”

“That’d be a first.”

“A gamble can be worth it. After all, the biggest risk I took in recruitment paid off.” Neil jerked his eyes from the tiles to Kevin and very nearly narrowed them. That sounded like a backhanded compliment. Kevin had been doing more of those. Worse, he’d been doing them _off the court._ It was frankly unnerving.

Then Kevin continued with a disappointed, “Thea’s in Dallas,” and, “I can’t join her team. The lack of adequate starting competition would be too limiting for us,” and, a small snort that Neil took to be a sober Kevin’s version of a forlorn sigh.

Neil voiced the problem. “So, Dallas is out. What about Chicago? You could play for the Dirty Dogs.”

Kevin’s nose wrinkled.

Neil felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. By his own statistical analysis of the reasons for him smiling, it was probably more amused than supportive.

In response, Kevin frowned.

Looking like he’d swallowed something sour, he said, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Neil said, “What?”

Andrew grunted, which was his version of an exasperated sigh.

“I want to kiss you,” Kevin corrected with a quick glance to Andrew. Then, leaning forward and to the side over Andrew, the sourpuss pinch to his face tightening: “May I?”

“Uh.” Neil blinked, his grin gone. The itch came back and prickled his skin. He shoved down the urge to fidget. When he realized he’d paused for a number of seconds and Andrew _hadn’t_ broken in, he said, “Okay,” and startled himself.

The fourth kiss started much the same as the original three: closed lips, no movement, and all confusion.

The change came when Andrew’s dry voice intoned, “Are you just going to stare at him, Josten? Looks like you’re an awful kisser, Day,” and Kevin and Neil made a noise of annoyance at the exact same time, which prompted Kevin to twist his hands into the front of Neil’s shirt and Neil to close his eyes and open his mouth, and then there was a lot of teeth and tongue and breath that smelled an awful lot better than Andrew’s, and it was nice.

Neil thought he should pull away and ask Andrew what this was about, or he should pull away and regret not having that talk the first time Kevin kissed him, but then the steady weight of Andrew’s hand was on the back of his neck and his expression said _I’m not ready to accept how happy I am right now_ , and Neil respected that.

The end of the fourth kiss arrived strictly because of the clamor of boots and Nicky’s laughing voice alerting them to the Foxes’ approach. Neil had time to say, “He is not a bad kisser,” and Kevin had time to say, “No shit,” before the lobby door opened and the rest of his family tumbled in.

By the end of the meeting, Andrew had his arms over both their shoulders. Nicky took notice immediately, of course (and Neil noticed him noticing, of course, because he would never not notice someone noticing something about him, his reported obliviousness to flirting aside), but self preservation held his tongue in front of the rest of the team.

Allison held no qualms, having faced death after laying a hand on Aaron Minyard and living to tell the tale, but when she smirked and said, “Why, you’re practically glowing, Minyard, care to share with the class what’s made you so chipper?” Andrew deigned to give her a flat stare.

That should have been it. That was far more than the usual.

But then he said, “Why, Reynolds, thank you for asking. I’m back on the happy pills,” and _smiled_ , and Allison turned such a shade of white Neil _swore_ Andrew’s fingers tapped a pleased one-two beat against his arm.

The fifth and sixth kisses both went better and lasted longer. They also came after Neil asked Andrew what game he thought he was playing, and Andrew’s answer, which started at, _far be it for me to stop you from what you want, Josten_ and ended at Andrew pulling Kevin down to his level for a kiss of his own.

The seventh and eighth kisses were fantastic. Apparently, Thea gave her blessings.

The ninth and tenth and eleventh went from better to best ( _as to be expected from us_ , Kevin all but said).

The twelfth and thirteenth and fourteenth– oh, who knew. By then, Neil stopped counting.


	2. kevin day needs a moment

The first time Kevin kissed Andrew was the first week after their deal, the second night Kevin spent at the Columbia house, and the third instance Kevin had seen Andrew off his court-ordered medication.

Nicky and Aaron had gone inside. Andrew had perched on his car’s roof and watched Kevin struggle to get out of the car without losing his dinner or his balance.

Although Kevin managed the task of unbuckling, opening the passenger door, and getting out, three steps to the door, his left foot caught on his left ankle or his right foot caught on his left ankle or, most probably, his one foot caught on his other foot (he couldn’t remember exactly; he strove to only because he enjoyed the phrase _the devil’s in the details_ to the point that he wanted to remember the details and later find the devil), and tumbled to his face.

Andrew hadn’t caught him. He’d let Kevin scrape his chin raw. Kevin remembered Andrew looking a little amused, but that seemed a devil without any detail as whenever he summoned the image of Andrew amused, he thought only of instances _after_ Neil’s arrival.

Anyway.

Andrew let him fall.

But he also, while Kevin had slurred swears under breath, pushed off the hood and stooped to offer Kevin a hand up.

 _That_ , Kevin remembered very clearly. He remembered hating his situation (a common thought in the first six months, if not year, of being a Fox), he remembered hating his choice to leave the Nest, he remembered despising the burn on his chin and how the scrape would look in the morning, he remembered trying to catch himself with his left hand and the pain arcing up the bone. He remembered Andrew, calm and quiet, reaching down and slowly levering him up. He remembered gathering his feet under him and Andrew nudging his left arm over his shoulder, and how they stood together.

He remembered muttering, “Let’s get inside, this night is useless,” and the puff of air that tickled his ear and sent a shiver down his spine.

He remembered Andrew forcing him to brush his teeth with someone else’s toothbrush. He remembered protesting that was disgusting, but going through with it because Andrew was right, waking up with an alcoholic aftertaste was even more disgusting.

He remembered kissing Andrew in the bathroom, mint on his tongue and thoughts a warm haze.

(The first two times he had met a sober Andrew had not been as good as this night. It didn’t matter - he remembered thinking, vindictive in his drunkenness,  _Riko’s been worse._ )

Andrew had pushed him back and said, “You’re drunk.”

He’d said, “So?”

Andrew said, “So. No.”

Kevin had almost protested it, indignation rising sharp and fast. He was very often drunk, and he had yet to do something he didn’t eventually agree with.

But Andrew had given him a _look_ , flat and blank and daring and considering all at once, and something about it doused the angry embers in Kevin’s chest. It hadn’t sat right with him. He’d backed off, unnerved despite himself.

(Later Neil would ask how Andrew was sober, and he’d remember the first two times as well as that moment, and vehemently opposed ever meeting a sober Andrew again.)

Later that weekend, Andrew’s grin wider than Kevin’s accomplishments in Exy, he jeered, “I thought you weren’t gay.”

Indignation unmitigated by alcohol rose, sharp and fast. “As far as anyone needs to be concerned, I’m not. For _your_ record, it’s called bisexuality.”

“What about your far away girlfriend? It’s all fine as long as she doesn’t find out, hm?”

“I _would have_ told her, and she wouldn’t have minded.”

Andrew turned in his grin for a sneer. He surely had the wrong idea about Thea, but the whole exchange made Kevin’s skin crawl, and so he quickly shut it down and moved along.

They left the kiss in the past. It was for the best.

The first time Kevin kissed Neil, it was an accident, and not for the best.

News of Riko’s death was a month fresh, but so was their victory against the Ravens. _Their_ victory. That was the catch, wasn’t it; now Kevin thought of _the Foxes_ and couldn’t help but follow it with _my team_. It wasn’t anything like how he’d say _my team_ and never once mention the Ravens by name because when he said _my team_ he could mean no other, but now with the Foxes he did, and continued to, and the warmth to follow was a peculiar feeling indeed.

He regretted Riko.

Full stop.

The regret didn’t creep up so much as crash down; it didn’t suffocate so much as dismantle; it was something he had under control. If he used any words in regards to his brother (off the record, away from the press, back in his skin), it would be regret. Anything more paid Riko a disservice; anything less did his victims wrong.

( _Victims_ was a word used on the weekdays only. On the weekend, maybe he drank enough to call them _teammates_ or _colleagues_ or _protector_ instead, and maybe it was a disservice to both, maybe it wasn’t the best, but definitely had he never claimed to be the best. He knew his fallacies better than anyone.)

In any case.

He had it under control. He knew he wasn’t _fine_ \- he wasn’t as stupid as Josten - but he knew he had it under control. His game would not be thrown off; he would not let it.

The evening Neil and he spent pouring over ranking sites and puzzling out where opposing teams would look to improve in the following season had been a good evening. Then Neil had said, “According to this, Palmetto State’s jumped to the fourth-best in the Class I division,” and he’d taken a breath and all Kevin could imagine him saying next was something to do with the Ravens dropping from the first spot for the first time, and that– that whatever-it-was, the feeling that came along, that regret, combined with elation over the tangible impact they had made on the Foxes and made a general mess that Kevin wasn’t sure what to do with and so he’d zeroed in on the one thing he _did_ know what to do with and kissed Neil.

Why not, he’d thought. Neil was attractive.

 _Why not?_ he later chided himself. Neil made up fifty percent of his problems, fifty percent of his solutions, and one-hundred-and-one percent of something he should be involved with.

The numbers were clear: Kevin was fucked.

Neil had stared at him like he’d sprouted two heads, which hadn’t been the best for his ego, but had brought him back to Earth.

After that, he took time to figure out what he was doing.

It took an annoyingly long time, but he got it under control. He figured out what he’d been trying to say with the kiss, why it had happened, and then - he’d taken the natural progression and kissed Neil again.

The second time Kevin kissed Neil was no mistake.

Because of that, it went both better and worse than the first time.

(Palmetto State put Kevin in a place of _one foot in, one foot out_ on very nearly everything; it was neither the worst nor the most comfortable, which further proved the conundrum correct, god fucking _damn_ it.)

Kevin remembered exactly what Neil had said. It hadn’t been a particularly brilliant observation on a gorgeous play (as expected - Jeremy Knox was no pushover), but it had been _right_ , and _accurate_ , and Kevin again thought, _why not?_

He needed to stop thinking that. It was obviously an ill omen.

He’d hoped Neil would reciprocate. That was how it went– you found someone attractive, you didn’t mind their personality, you kissed them, they kissed back, and you made a good night of your amity. It lasted however long it lasted - it was nothing too personal. That was how it had been in the Nest.

 _That was how it had been in the Nest._ Another ill omen of a thought.

(He had known that, too, he and Thea had kept their relationship secret and slow for just that reason, but – sometimes, it slipped his mind. It wasn’t as if Thea expected him to stay exclusive or that he expected that of her — but that was a _Nest thing,_ as Nicky oh-so-adequately put it. Monogamy was the normal. Feelings beyond _you’re attractive, I’m attractive, we don’t piss each other off too badly, let’s hook up_ were the usual.)

But he’d thought about it, he’d thought about Neil, and he wouldn’t have minded if it went by the world’s standards rather than the Nest. Oh, well, not the Neil or Thea part, but the rest. Going slow. That would have been fine.

Except Neil had blinked and squinted and not looked as into him as he was into Neil. The Nest’s relationships were apparently _not normal_ , but Kevin knew how to take a hint. Neil was not interested. He would not press the issue.

So he buried the night in Exy, and it was nearly fine. In fact, it’d almost been good.

Most evenings with Neil were good. Even if the burns on his face had been in part Riko’s fault and even if Kevin’s future as an individual hinged on Neil’s deal, Neil Josten was not someone Kevin regretted. Not in any way, shape, or form.

Neil Josten also wouldn’t stop _glancing_ at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. He put his all into the night practices, but he also took longer than usual to let Kevin go after he’d practiced a block on him, and he lingered longer to talk about Exy (which was impressive, as they already lingered a lot according to everyone else), and he challenged Kevin to more timed drills and races, and in general acted like more of an argumentative asshole than he already was (which was also impressive, as all of Neil’s problems stemmed from him being an argumentative asshole).

Those were the recent developments. Ones that began after their first kiss, and escalated after the second. Kevin knew because he’d been watching Neil ever since he’d returned from Evermore.

While Kevin could take a hint and take a no, the idea Neil _didn’t_ go for something he wanted - that they both wanted - didn’t sit well with him. That was to say: mixed signals didn’t sit well with him, and Neil was full of them.

The third time Kevin kissed Neil was both not entirely an accident and not entirely not an accident.

Kevin knew Andrew and Neil were, if not at the point of monogamy, fairly serious about each other. He knew this because Andrew had made it abundantly clear with his beyond possessive behaviour after Neil’s kidnapping and Neil’s return, and because Neil (intentionally or not, Kevin couldn’t figure it out) had no cover-up skills to speak of and regularly showed up to practice with a bruised lower lip and hickeys running down his neck.

He’d kissed Neil in front of Andrew because, weeks prior, he realized Neil could subscribe to the ideal of monogamy. More likely, however, Andrew’s opinion weighed heavily in the decisions Neil made, and – if it was proven Andrew didn’t mind Kevin kissing Neil, then maybe Neil wouldn’t mind Kevin kissing him.

The initial plan had been to ask Andrew about it. Andrew could be counted on for an honest answer; Andrew deserved to have input; Kevin had meant to talk to Andrew about kissing before, only before Neil hadn’t been the subject.

But then there had been finals, and then moving around for summer, and then not thinking about the Master’s silence in regards to Riko or Kevin’s technical summer home, and then recruitment, and then, before Kevin knew it, Neil had conceded Kevin’s very valid point and Kevin had wanted to kiss him and Andrew was right there and maybe Andrew would not mind it and also want to join in and, really, a peck on the lips was like a question, so he took the chance to ask it.

He regretted it instantly.

Neil had not reciprocated. Neil had frozen up. Neil had tasted like smoke.

It was a bit humiliating. Aside from Andrew (an exception as it was; Kevin wasn’t sure what he all felt for Andrew for all that he was sure he wouldn’t mind another kiss), Kevin had never been turned down.

But, no. That was not what he was going to spend the rest of the evening thinking about.

He turned his mind, instead, to the taste of smoke.

That was another thing. Kevin knew they were an item because Andrew ran through cigarettes faster than a fifties-era suburban conformist, and Neil smelled a whole lot like smoke.

Was thinking of them as an exclusive item self-deprecating? He reminded himself he only minded a _little,_ and pushed forward.

Smoke wasn’t an awful smell, but Kevin would never admit that. They needed to quit. They had their careers to think about. They had _Kevin’s_ career to think about! He was _not_ going to be forced into an early retirement because of third-hand smoke.

Kevin drafted the argument he would make in favor of quitting smoking while he waited for them in the Maserati after the third (and final! it had to be the final, he was being _stupid_ ) kiss.

“This is pathetic,” Andrew told him when he opened the door and let himself into the seat across from Kevin’s, “even for you. Sulking in the car and pretending you didn’t royally fuck up? I’d expect this from Aaron.”

“I’m not sulking,” Kevin snapped, annoyed that Andrew had interrupted his mental planning and also ruined his opening line by not arriving with Neil.

Actually, that was a good point. “Where’s Neil?”

“Waiting for word that you aren’t going to keep doing this.”

Andrew sounded - dangerous. Not _I’m about to choke you again_ dangerous, but _you’re drunk, so no_ dangerous.

Kevin quelled immediately.

Shoulders dropping, he set his jaw, felt his ears burn anew, and looked away.

“I won’t.”

“Funny. I feel like you’ve said that before.”

A knife wasn’t aimed at his gut, which was only mildly surprising. After the kidnapping incident – well, Kevin didn’t know what to expect from Andrew. Uncertainties didn’t cripple him as they used to, but that didn’t mean he liked them. He thought that was fairly normal by everyone’s standards. No one liked change, and no one liked the unfamiliar. Right then, he really didn’t like wherever Andrew wanted to take this conversation.

He insisted, and did not sound sulky in the least: “I _won’t._ ”

Andrew tsked.

Kevin forced his shoulders back, opened his mouth, and found himself cut off by Andrew.

“He didn’t say no,” his voice slow and flat, like an elementary teacher repeating a simple lesson for the fourth time in fifteen minutes, “but that isn’t a yes. The next time you want to kiss him, you’re going to ask him. If he says no, you bury your infatuation, or I’ll bury your chance of reaching the Spring Championships ever again.”

 _That_ , Kevin understood, was both a threat and a promise.

Though all instincts told him to shut up, he wanted to make his point in saying, “I did ask him. In a way. He doesn’t seem interested.”

“You didn’t ask.” He booked no arguments, which was fine, as whatever arguments Kevin could have made dried up in the encroaching realization of _oh, fuck, Andrew’s right_. “Get your head out of your ass and ask, or don’t, and let the sleeping dog lie. Are we clear?”

Kevin nodded.

“Yes or no, Kevin.”

“Yes,” Kevin said, straight-backed and sure and wanting to curl up and drink and not think, “we’re clear.”

A less dangerous pause. Kevin didn’t dare look toward Andrew, though he swore he felt his gaze burning a hole in the side of his head.

Eventuall Andrew climbed from the back to the driver’s seat, pulled out his phone, and wrote his text.

Shortly thereafter Neil showed up, looking both spooked and uncomfortably wary.

Although Andrew caught his eye in the rearview mirror and quirked a challenging eyebrow, Kevin did not ask. Kevin felt like a bastard (which, technically, he was), Neil’s silence worse than a knife at his gut, and did not say much of anything.

The fourth time Kevin kissed Neil took… an age.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, though Kevin had rehearsed the lines he’d use in his mind for weeks prior. The words kept changing, nothing feeling quite right. No matter how he phrased it, _asking_ did not come naturally. It made the whole business formal, stiff and awkward, which was not at all Kevin’s usual experience with physical matters. Thinking ahead was for the court, for interviews, for classes, for every other aspect of Kevin’s life. As far as he was concerned, Neil had all _but_ said no, and he wasn’t excited to go through rejection twice with a new, unexciting verbal twist.

But Andrew had made it sound like Neil turning him down again wasn’t an absolute. Andrew had said _it wasn’t a no._

And Kevin, he wanted…

He wanted a lot of things.

Mostly, he wanted Neil.

The day, the hour, the very minute he thought that, he felt adrenaline hit him, his nerves like live wires under his skin, and asked both himself and Neil, “I’m going to kiss you?”

Neil said, “What?”

Andrew made a noise that told Kevin, _try again._

It took a moment. It still felt awkward, and formal, and unnatural, but he did it because when it came down to it, Andrew was more honest and better at reading people than he was, and if he said _try again_ , he meant only _try again_.

“I want to kiss you.” Except now that he said that, his throat felt unnervingly dry, and his lips were definitely chapped, and all this extra thinking was exactly why he didn’t want to drag out asking, it made him feel like some teenager with a crush, oh, fuck, Neil was going to think he was a dunce. No one wanted to kiss a dunce, let alone take them to bed. “May I?”

Neil said, “Uh.”

Kevin readied himself for pretending, once and for all, none of this had happened.

Neil said, “Okay.”

Kevin, before he could think twice, kissed him.

Then his thoughts caught up, and Neil wouldn’t move, and he’d initiated the first part so he thought it rather rude to force the rest, and this was awkward and uncomfortable and–

Andrew said,“Are you just going to stare at him, Josten?” And then, before Kevin could open his eyes to check, “Looks like you’re an awful kisser, Day,” which was patently _not true._

As it turned out, Neil was also not a bad kisser.

(Kevin was only a little surprised.)

A handful of questions and far too many hours later, Andrew turned out to be an even better kisser.

( _You learned from him, didn’t you?_ Kevin asked Neil a week later, feeling warm and light and surprisingly certain about his future.

 _How can you tell?_ Neil asked.

_It’s good._

_Shut up,_ Andrew said, and pulled him down to prove Kevin’s point _._ )


	3. andrew minyard has had it up to here

The first time, Kevin kissed Andrew.

It went poorly.

The second time, Andrew kissed Kevin.

It also went poorly.

For, granted, an entirely different reason. Andrew had pulled him down by the shiny black lapel of his wind-breaker and caught his sharp intake between his teeth. Kevin steadied himself by digging fingers into Andrew’s shoulders, his surprise shifting to relief and cool, slow-burning desire. Though he clung like a man dying, he bent and bowed for Andrew.

For Andrew, desire was not a wildfire. It burned as chilled skin under a hot shower. It burned as numbness receding. It was white static clearing for a picture of something Andrew had been late to and, truthfully, continued to learn.

In terms of want, Kevin was not new. But he came from the start with fifty neon red warning signs, a number scant reduced since Riko’s death, and not all of them did Andrew trust Neil to fix on his own.

But Neil was a big boy. To his knowledge, Andrew was Neil’s only experience with a relationship – Kevin was sure to be a handful for anyone, but at least he was a chance at showing Neil what else could be. Selfish as any other he might be, Andrew would not let Neil pass that opportunity because he _thought_ he had any idea what he wanted (especially when what he thought he wanted was Andrew Minyard).

Warning signs or not, Kevin knew when enough was enough. He would never harm Neil; he would go to great lengths to avoid causing Neil any true distress; the worst he might do (whether Andrew was there or not) was force Neil to the brink of exhaustion practicing Exy, which was something Neil enjoyed to a stupid degree.

It would be good for Neil to learn someone else. And, anyway, it wasn’t as if Andrew would have trusted him with anyone else.

They had discussed Kevin’s advances in the long, long span of time it took for Kevin to work up his nerve and take responsibility for his actions. Neil had been confused, a state Andrew distinctly recalled him being in after Andrew had bluntly pointed out his own attraction, because Neil was a fool that didn’t have any idea how to read his own emotions. Andrew had made it clear he didn’t care what Neil did with Kevin. Neil had called him a liar. Andrew had taken his cigarette back and blew the smoke down-wind, away from Neil.

They hadn’t discussed it past that.

Andrew kissed Kevin to clear the air. It would be the second and last time, he thought. Kevin hadn’t glanced at him since the first; as Kevin never before displayed the ability to take a simple no, Andrew assumed his interest had been fleeting and passing.

Kevin’s response, eager and willing, was not expected. Kevin was not a bad kisser (but then, Andrew hadn’t thought he would be).

No. Neil was why the second kiss went poorly.

Andrew kissed Kevin just before leaving the locker room after practice. Two steps away, his bag heavy on his shoulder, Neil said, “That looks _really_ uncomfortable. You’re practically double his height.”

Kevin’s surprised laugh broke their kiss, his breath warm and minty from that morning’s toothpaste. The look he gave Andrew then bordered a smirk, everything about him relaxed and amused and Day-brand condescending. While he looked at Neil as a challenge (another red hot warning) and an equal (contradictory, because of course Andrew’s life had to be difficult), he looked at Andrew like he expected no one less to be at his side.

For his part, Andrew blanked his face, stepped to the side, hooked his foot on Kevin’s ankle, and gave him a solid pull.

Kevin fell with a high pitched exclamation.

Rather than offer help up, Neil shoved his hands in his pockets and laughed, his smile sneaky and breath light.

Andrew hated him. Andrew hated _them._

That night they went back to the dorm with the air between them thick with tension unspoken. Kevin made an excuse of a paper needing proof-reading and left for the library. Neil watched him leave, his eyebrows furrowed, and glanced to Andrew. He then quietly readied himself for bed, and went to sleep without a single comment.

The ninety-eighth time Andrew kissed Neil marked the ninety-seventh kiss more than he had expected. Handily, it also marked the ninety-eighth he had been _certain_ he would not receive.

It occurred after Neil wandered from his theoretical calculus class to Andrew’s side on the Tower’s roof. Sitting close enough to touch, Neil - as usual - complained about one of the freshmen’s blase attitude toward Wilds.

As he had not expected Neil to join him during his free period (a period Kevin also had free), he kept silent until Neil realized something was wrong and thereafter dabbled in self-destruction.

“Shouldn’t you be with someone else?”

Neil shot him a questioning look, saw something in his face, trusted it, and did not take his cold statement at face value.

He was an idiot.

“I don’t want to be. Do I have to be?”

“Do you have to choose, you mean?”

“Well,” Neil’s eyes shifted to the clouds, then to Andrew, his mouth pressed tight, his fingers jumping on his leg, “yes.”

“You should. Kevin won’t give up Thea for you.”

“I doubt he feels the need to. I have ears, I heard how he talked about whatever thing they have. Anyway, why bring up Kevin? I thought we were talking about us.”

“There isn’t an us.”

Neil squinted at him.

Andrew resisted the urge to flick him between the eyes.

“If you want to go after him, go after him.” Josten always had to be a problem. It was in his blood. “I won’t tie you down.”

“You said that before,” Neil said, slower, “and I still don’t understand what you mean. Do you want me to leave?”

In a sense, yes.

(In the sense of: no.)

“We’re emotionally deadened,” he pointed out, “Kevin’s emotionally volatile.”

“That’s only news _to_ the news. What do you think about it? We could… You’ve never minded Kevin around before. This could be no different.”

It was. It very much was. Kevin wanted Neil, Andrew didn’t like sharing, and they were both his but - they were different people, it was a different business. Those streams weren’t meant to be crossed.

Neil looked at him as if he was making this more complicated than it needed to be.

Andrew would not be swayed by him, not this time.

Andrew said, “I think you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

Neil said, “Tell me to leave.”

Silence.

Neil took a slow breath in, his eyes unwavering on Andrew’s. The burns on his face were old; the clothes he wore were not stained; his fingers were still, no jump or itch to be found. He was not desperate. He was not in pain. He was only asking.

There was nothing _only_ about that statement, and Neil knew it.

Andrew should have taken off his face for it.

He didn’t.

And he wouldn’t.

After a silence too long, Neil sucked in a breath. “Tell me you don’t want Kevin.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about Kevin,” Andrew replied, annoyance sudden and vicious. “Really, what do we have to discuss?”

Fortunately for them both, Neil took that as the dismissal it was. Andrew needed _space._ Though he gave him a considering look, he left without further demand or question.

Because he could, Andrew stewed in hatred for him for the night.

Come the morning, he told Kevin and Neil to stay in the car. Nicky and Aaron exchanged glances, but both left without major complaint. They disappeared into the heavy stadium doors. Andrew held onto the silence between those left behind and relished the fact Kevin had to be sweating bullets. He had to know this was the crux, that this was the moment the fruits of his labor would be decided. The tension spread, thick as a winter blanket.

Kevin said, annoyed, “Did you have something to say? We’re wasting practice time.”

Neil, in the back, made a noise of agreement.

Andrew decided then and there that he hated Kevin, too.

“If you’re going to keep kissing Neil, you have to deal with me, too.”

Kevin paused.

Instead of the fretting or side-stepping he expected, Kevin hedged: “You… kissed me yesterday?”

Yes. Obviously. They were both there for that. Andrew narrowed his eyes at him; Kevin stared back, looking not so much intimidated or flustered as confused. It wasn’t a good look for Day, not like it was for Neil.

“I thought we were all going to keep on,” Kevin waved his hand in poor elaboration, “keeping on.”

“You,” Neil said, sudden and firm from the back, “are going to need to use your words more.”

“I don’t see the point in talking about the obvious.”

“Nothing is set until I meet with Thea,” Andrew cut in.

Kevin agreed, readily, easily, and still, somehow, confused.

He ignored how Neil smiled at him on the way into the stadium, and how Kevin _didn’t_ snipe at their teammates nearly as much for lazy behavior. Kevin had only gotten a few kisses out of their arrangement. There was no reason for him to be so happy.

Technically speaking, their deal was done. Riko was dead.

But Andrew remembered (in aching, perfect detail) a time Kevin could do nothing alone, when the very idea of going to class without someone by his side froze him in their dorm room and - for a few days - had him skipping lectures in lieu of standing around the court, his left hand in a cast and his right untrained.

Technically speaking, Kevin’s face and name and history had brought Neil into Andrew’s life. He owed Andrew nothing more. They were on equal ground.

But at the end of practice, Kevin waited for both of them by the door. Passing over his phone as proof, he explained that Thea would be free to fly within next weekend if Andrew wouldn’t mind meeting her then. Scheduling would be tight, but she hadn’t the time to visit for months. It was her pleasure to meet up, he concluded. Andrew agreed to the time and picked the place. Neil, not a hand’s span away, nodded as if it all made sense.

They didn’t kiss. Not then, not there, and not in car, and not on the way home.

But Aaron was out with the girl, Nicky had left with Allison on a parting note about preparing morning mimosas, and Kevin sat with his side pressed to Neil’s on the couch while Andrew deigned to lean between them both over the back, his arms crossed on the top. They began with not Exy, but absurd news stories over the last month. Most took place in Florida. None of them meant a thing to their daily lives.

Andrew was the first to split from the two, but - to his surprise - Neil followed not long after. Neil needed only a glance to know this was not a night to put himself in Andrew’s bed, an astute observation that Andrew had yet to thank Neil out loud for (and he knew himself well enough to know that he never would). Kevin trailed after them as if on a string, his wariness (at long last) overt. His timing was always ridiculous: this was his room, too.

 _Technically speaking_ , he owed Kevin nothing. They hadn’t discussed it, it would not be addressed, but it was true.

And yet, also true: _nothing had gotten him this far_.

“Why don’t you wear pajamas?”

“It gets warm in this decrepit, airless building,” Kevin replied, stiff in his white t-shirt and orange boxers. “Why do you dress like it’s the middle of winter?”

Kevin knew why Neil dressed like he was ready to run.

Neil replied, “Because you can be a real frosty bastard,” and Kevin sputtered, his tension - _the_ tension, so thick Andrew hadn’t even realized they’d been suffocating - evaporating.

On the side but included, in some way and some how wanted, Andrew breathed in, breathed out, and pulled the blanket over his head in a pointed statement about their late night chitter-chatter. It didn’t shut them up, of course; Kevin just had to point out the merits of biphasic sleeping, whereupon Neil huffed that it was a load of shit and the reason Kevin could never wake up in the morning, and Andrew –

Hated them.

With a passion so intense and consuming, it felt fragile as a bird’s wing. It carried him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, and refused to leave when he woke.

He hated them. _He hated them._

He would not leave them.


End file.
